It's amazing how gardening heals the soul. Better by far than shrinks and self-help books.
I'd neglected the garden
while you were mending.
Even thought of moving
somewhere smaller...
Watched summer scorch
the poor old rhododendrons,
and autumn's dappled palette
rot beneath the trees.
Then, as winter donned its frosty overcoat
and you slipped into the driver's seat
of your recovery,
I began on the onion-weed.
What a splendid way to scratch the creative itch.
What a ballsy blend of violence and nurturing.
What a singular chance to grunt and strain,
to coax and cajole - to LIVE again.
As time and order grow,
so I become more ruthless,
till the woodpile doubles and trebles in size
and my face is flaming.
Soon spring blossoms,
and I walk fresh paths -
buds of anticipation
bursting within me.
Today is raining
and yesterday's camellias
are settling happily into their new homes.
I wonder what tomorrow will bring?
I'm feeling warm and good inside reading this lovely, inspiring poem of transforming our challenges by creating a beautiful garden to enjoy